


Five Golden Rings (coda)

by Fallynleaf



Series: the Bobby John AU [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dean Doing Feminine Things, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2179512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallynleaf/pseuds/Fallynleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of the tenth ficlet in the Bobby John AU ficlet compilation. This coda is really two codas rolled into one fic, the first one taking place maybe a week after the ficlet, and the other taking place not too long after the first coda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Golden Rings (coda)

**Author's Note:**

> [Five Golden Rings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2165958/chapters/4770129) is the preceding ficlet in question.

Sam walked over to where Dean stood leaning on the Impala, one hand jammed casually into his pocket, fidgeting slightly. "So, um," Sam started, trailing off.

"Got it?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. You?" Sam stopped a couple feet away from Dean, then turned and leaned against the Impala beside him and faced the park. Some children played there, kicking up bark chips as they ran and laughed on the playground structure, the surrounding grass waving in the scattered wind.

"Got it right here," Dean said.

"So how do we want to do this?" Sam asked. The calm in his voice caught Dean off guard, and Dean couldn't help but glance at him, wondering if he was the only one currently fighting back a weird nervousness that had clawed its way into his stomach. But one look at Sam told him that Sam's calm was entirely superficial, that he was just as afraid as Dean.

And that was enough for Dean to crack an easy smile, and say, "Can we opt for pie instead of cake? I'll still feed it to you. As long as I get the first bite. 'Cause I'm older, and all."

That prompted an answering grin from Sam, as Dean had hoped it would, but nerves quickly overtook it again. "So are we going to go the, uh, whole nine yards, then?" Sam asked.

"Nah," Dean said. "Because I don't think I can do the whole _'till death do us part_ thing."

Sam's expression suddenly darkened. "Planning on leaving the option to walk out on me?" he asked.

Dean winced and scratched the back of his head, wishing he'd been clearer. "No, I just meant that‒ that death hasn't exactly stopped us before. And even then... sorry, Sammy, I think you're stuck with me for a bit longer than that."

Sam was too stunned by Dean's response to say anything of substance. "Yeah, okay," he said, a little dazed. He blinked a few times.

"D'you want to just get on with it?" Dean asked, awkwardly.

"Yeah, oka‒" Sam cut himself off abruptly. "Yes," he said instead. He started to reach into his pocket, but Dean reached into his own coat and beat Sam to it.

Dean shoved the small object in front of Sam, then waited, forcing his gaze upward from the satiny black box ‒ he'd hardly glanced at it after picking it up at the store ‒ until he was meeting Sam's eyes with determined confidence. Same just stared at the box, his eyes wide, and neither of them said anything.

"Take it," Dean said, finally. "It's yours." He hadn't thought it would be this hard, this small, unofficial butchering of a time-honored American custom.

"Aren't you supposed to‒?" Sam said.

Dean grunted, then reached out and snatched Sam's left hand, snapping open the lid on the box with his other hand. He plucked the item out of the box, closed it, then shoved it back into his pocket. Then he found Sam's fourth finger and slid the ring onto it in one smooth movement.

He had been proud of finding it, that wedding ring. It was a solid piece of deep brown wood, finely polished, with a thin band of ebony all around it. Completely waterproof and hopefully blood-proof.

Sam stared at the ring on his finger, open-mouthed. Dean remembered to drop Sam's hand probably a full minute later than he'd planned on letting go of it. He cleared his throat afterwards.

Then Sam retrieved an almost matching black box, and Dean's heart sped up. He let Sam grab his hand, Sam's strong fingers brushing against Dean's still-callused ones, and then there was something cold and metal sliding onto Dean's finger, warmed just slightly from Sam's hand.

The ring was neither gaudy nor did it contain diamond hearts, contrary to Sam's threats.

It was made of white gold with a mother of pearl inlay. The white gold was engraved on the outside with a simple design, and maybe it looked a little bit feminine, but Dean couldn't bring himself to care, because at the same time, it matched his favorite gun, his nickel-plated Colt 1911 with the ivory handle. And then his hand was tightening around Sam's, and Dean swallowed, and looked up.

"I love you, Sam," he said. And he had never said it before. Not like this, all plain and honest and laid bare.

"I love you too, Dean," Sam said.

And then Dean leaned up, the bustling street and park around them be damned, and kissed Sam right there with the Impala a solid presence at their side.

They parted, and at some point Dean registered the sound of someone clapping, and maybe a few whistles, and he stepped away from Sam only to find that they had an audience. Dean felt his face heat up. He glanced at Sam, who looked even more sheepish than usual.

"Don't worry, I know it'll be legal soon enough," a man called out. Dean wasn't quite so sure about that, but legally marrying Sam wasn't exactly on either of their to-do lists. Though maybe punching a few bears in the face was, because after _that_ display, he thought he might have to do something sufficiently manly or lose what tattered shreds remained of his masculine big brother cred.

But Dean just climbed into the car and waited for Sam to slide into the seat beside him, then Dean was blasting his music and heading down the road, and they were on their way home.

* * *

 

A few days later, he was still twisting the ring around on his finger, getting used to the weight and feel of it, while he waited at the door.

Dean was nervous, and didn't exactly know why. He'd pretended to be a prospective neighbor before. Had shown up with Sam at someone's doorstep, smiling and friendly, and had been invited in for coffee and a conversation. But doing it for real was different. And if anything, Dean felt like _more_ of an imposter, that at any moment, she would realize that he wasn't real, that _none_ of this was, that him and Sam and the kid were all playing a drawn-out, messed-up game of pretend.

The door opened.

Judy took in the sight of them ‒ Dean standing awkwardly there, Bobby John at his side, a round pan clutched tight in both of her hands ‒ and smiled. "Hey! Dean! And you must be Bobby Jo!" Judy said, looking down at her.

"Yep," Bobby John said. "And you must be Judy. I've heard a lot about you."

"Really?" Judy asked, her eyebrow quirked.

"You make a mean fruitcake," Bobby John said.

Judy laughed. "Thank you," she said. "I've been told that my cookies are pretty good, too. Do the two of you want to come in and try some?"

"Alright, but you haveta take this pie first," Bobby John said. "'Cause you gave us a fruitcake." She held it out for Judy and looked up at her expectantly.

Judy took the pie. "It's pecan!" she commented. "That's one of my favorites, thanks!"

"It's one of Dad's favorites, too," Bobby John said. "But that's because they're all his favorites."

"Think of it as a merry late Christmas," Dean said, before Bobby John had the chance to say _too_ much about him.

Judy opened her door wider and stepped back to let them both through. "Come in, I can make you some tea, if you'd like. Or coffee, if you'd prefer."

Bobby John walked into the house before Dean could, gazing all around her in wonder. "Are we going to have a real life tea party?" she asked. "Always wanted to try that."

Dean leaned down to Bobby John's height, and in a conspiratorial whisper, said "Me too." Then he added, "Though don't tell Sam that. Ever." Bobby John just smirked at him and giggled.

"What kind of tea do you like?" Judy asked, after Dean had straightened to his full height.

"Black. No sugar," Bobby John said, her voice serious.

"I'll, uh, have the same," Dean said.

Judy's dining room was turquoise and lavender, with highlights of orange. A vase sat at the center of the table, clear and cerulean, and lavender sprigs blossomed from it, exuding a nice fragrance, with a single orange rose nestled in the middle. They looked to be freshly cut from Judy's garden.

A platter of cookies rested on a white tablecloth. They appeared to be snickerdoodles, and from the smell of them, they were freshly baked. Bobby John pulled back the chair that was the closest to the cookies and slid into it.

A few minutes later, Judy carried over an orange teapot and several small teacups, each of which were individually unique, all of them a shade of turquoise. She placed a dish of sugar cubes on the table next to the teapot.

Upon seeing the sugar cubes, Bobby John's eyes bulged out. She pointed at them and looked at Dean, an expression of wonder on her face.

"You can try one, if you like," Judy said. She poured them each a cup of tea.

Bobby John picked up a sugar cube. She eyed it, curious, then stuffed it into her mouth and crunched it between her teeth. Then she picked up her tea and lifted it to her mouth to wash down the overwhelming sweetness with a touch of bitter.

"Too sweet for you?" Dean asked, amused.

"I don't do sugar in my drinks," Bobby John said, taking another sip.

"How about in cookies?" Judy asked, motioning to the platter of snickerdoodles.

"It's alright in cookies," Bobby John admitted. "And pie." She reached for the platter of cookies and took the biggest one within her reach.

"So on a scale of one to the fruitcake, how would you rate my cookies?" Judy asked after Bobby John took an experimental bite.

"Fruitcake," Bobby John said.

"That good?" Dean asked. "Now I gotta try this for myself." He took a cookie with his left hand and held it up to his mouth with his wedding ring all prominent and aglitter in the afternoon light on his hand.

Judy's eyes alighted on it, but she made no direct comment. After Dean finished his cookie ‒ which was amazing enough for Dean to declare it "Awesome" ‒ he found himself toying with the ring again, turning it over in his hands, feeling the small pentacle Sam had had engraved on the inside for protection. Dean had done the same with Sam's ring. They hadn't coordinated it intentionally, and every other aspect of their rings was completely different, but in their line of work, it never hurt to be a little superstitious. And maybe it was a little sentimental, too, though if anyone ever asked him a direct question about it, Dean would just say "superstitious" and leave it at that.

Dean took a sip of his tea, then glanced down at it in suspicion when it tasted a lot sweeter than he'd expected.

One look at Bobby John, and Dean knew what had happened. "If you smirk like that when you slip a sugar cube into a guy's drink, you'll never win at poker," Dean warned her.

"If you let yourself get distracted like that, you'll never win, either," Bobby John countered. Dean was fairly certain she had no idea how to play poker. He was also fairly certain that he'd just gotten schooled by his six-year-old daughter.

"And I think I could beat you both," Judy said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You should bring Sam along next time, and we can play a couple hands."

"You're _on_ ," Bobby John said.

"No, I think it's our turn to host," Dean said. "You should stop by our house sometime. Bring a friend. I'll make dinner and provide the cards."

It was easier, after that. Playing the neighbor. And as it turned out, playing married wasn't so hard, either.


End file.
